


Divided Loyalties

by orphan_account



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gellert Grindelwald is not portrayed by Johnny Depp, Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Double Agents, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Grindelwald Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Racism, Summer of 1899, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, as viewed through the Pensieve, don't even ask, magical self harm, mention of rape and genocide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23491933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The iron gate opened silently before them. Gellert turned to smile at Credence, triumph adorning his beauty."Welcome to Nurmengard." His gloved hand found Credence's, their fingers interlacing. "You and I will liberate the world. But first, we must conquer it."Credence drew in a sharp breath. His hand tightened around Gellert's. He knew what he must answer."For the Greater Good."Grindelwald hasn't encountered an Obscurial since the unfortunate incident with Ariana Dumbledore. Now he's found this boy, abused and innocent, who's willing to do anything for him. What better weapon against Albus than to send him a poignant reminder of the past? There is no one more fitting to win over Albus's trust and then betray him at the right moment.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Credence Barebone/Gellert Grindelwald, Credence Barebone/Percival Graves | Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off near the end of the first Fantastic Beasts. Grindelwald gets to Credence first. Grindelwald doesn't look like he's portrayed in the movies, for obvious reasons.

For hours, Credence knew nothing as he rampaged all over New York. He hated. He hated everyone. Hated Mary Lou, for being an atrocious excuse of a mother. Hated Chastity, for becoming more and more similar to Mary Lou as she grew up. He hated the No-Majs for being cruel to him, and the wizards and witches for ignoring and abandoning him. He hated Modesty- although it was no fault of her own- for being a decoy who drew Mr. Graves's attention away from him. And of course he hated Mr. Graves, with a searing, burning passion that made him want to burn the world: for lying to him, using him, manipulating him, drawing him close, allowing him to bask in his shadow, before casting him aside like a piece of trash. 

But above all, he hated himself. He utterly loathed himself, and wished that he could tear himself apart, the same way that he tore the buildings and streets apart. Tear himself apart to pieces, until he would know nothing no more. _Stupid, useless Credence_ , a voice whispered to him. _Idiot, foolish, naïve Credence. Actually believing that someone cared about you. Actually thinking that someone liked you, that you were worth something. You're nothing, and you'll always be nothing, so at least make them suffer like you._

Only after he dove into a subway tunnel did he find that he'd exhausted himself out. Slowly, gradually, he slipped lower and lower, pooling by the floor. 

"Credence, I know you're there." The voice that once would have awakened delight now stiffened him, and he drew his black mass together, preparing to attack. 

"I've made a terrible mistake. You're right to be angry." The familiar figure of the auror appeared before him. He lowered his wand, then tucked it away, spreading his empty arms to the sides. "There, Credence. You can have my life if you wish it. Attack me. Kill me if that'll make you feel better. I promise not to fight back." 

Credence swelled out, breaking walls, shattering columns and bending the rails out of shape. But he was tired. So tired. His rage had nearly burned itself out. For some reason, he found that he couldn't harm Mr. Graves. Hatred was not enough to overwhelm his old feelings of devotion, now wounded with pain and betrayal.

"It was a test, Credence," Mr. Graves said soothingly, slowly advancing forward. "A terrible mistake, but I had to know for certain. I suspected the truth, yet it seemed impossible. An adult Obscurial? I thought myself mad for even considering it. I had to push you to the brink, to make you reveal yourself. I also wanted to know how far I could trust you. If I pretended to never care about you, would you try to kill me?" A pause. "I guess we both now know the answer."

Credence felt himself fading, shrinking. He held on to the remnants of his rage tightly. _Don't believe him,_ he whispered to himself. _He's trying to trick you again. He's lying._

Yet still, the truth was that while he'd unflinchingly killed Mary Lou, the woman he'd called mother for most of his life, and Chastity, his younger adopted sister that had grown up beside him, he still wanted to believe that someone cared. That someone would try to redeem him. 

"You don't know if to believe me," said Mr. Graves. "You're right. You can't know. But I'll tell you a secret, so that you can hold my life in your hands." 

He pulled out his wand and pointed it at himself. " _Revelio_." 

Mr. Graves transformed. Credence felt his black mass swell, startled and wary. The man he'd known turned into a different man. Tall and slim, with sharp, beautiful features, blond hair and cool blue eyes. He looked to be about Mr. Graves's age, but there was a youthful, playful air about him, contrasting Mr. Graves's seriousness. Simultaneously, there was another quality to him, a dark poise that made him almost feel ancient. 

"You're wondering who I am." Even his voice was different: slightly accented, silky, refined. So different from Mr. Graves's warm tones. "Gellert Grindelwald. Percival Graves is one of my followers, who quite kindly agreed to let me borrow his identity for the last few months. You never knew the man. You've always been speaking to me. But now... You should know the truth. I'm sorry I had to deceive you." 

Credence didn't know what to think. It was hard to hold on to his anger and hatred when he felt so confused. He faded more, then felt himself wither back into his human form. Sad, lonely, worthless. He almost wished to return immediately to the raging monster. At least then he'd been powerful. 

"Don't look so broken, my dear boy," Mr. Grindelwald murmured, and now Credence could see the similarity to the Mr. Graves he'd known. Not in the voice, but in the words. Not in his movements, which were more fluid and less purposeful than Mr. Graves's, but in the piercing, mesmerizing quality of his eyes. 

"Grindelwald!" a shout came. Three aurors rushed through the wreckage, throwing wild spells. "Bleeker, contact Graves! Tell him we found Grindelwald!" 

"We're out of time, I'm afraid." Mr. Grindelwald parryed their attacks almost lazily. "They desire to kill you, the fools. I must leave. Will you come with me?" 

It didn't take much debating on Credence's part. The aurors certainly looked murderous. He rushed over to Mr. Grindelwald and grabbed his arm. Then they were surrounded by oppresive blackness and were gone.

They appeared in a garden beside a mansion. An ornate fountain gurgled in the center, surrounded by wintergreen and lobelias. There were statues spread out in the garden, of dragons, centaurs, unicorns and giants. 

"Come." Mr. Grindelwald led him along the paved path and up the steps. The large oak doors opened silently before him.

"Welcome home, Lord Grindelwald," chirped a house-elf as they walked in. He was a short, sharp nosed creature, dressed in a clean white sheet.

The house was richly decorated, a plush red carpet covering the floor, classical-style paintings hanging from the walls and a golden chandelier dangling from the ceiling. A winding marble staircase led to the second floor. Credence's attention was caught by one of the paintings. The lady beside the harp daintily raised her hand to cover a yawn. She noticed Credence staring and grinned.

"How is Percy doing, Nory?" Mr. Grindelwald was asking as he shrugged off his coat.

Nory's ears fell. "The master has refused to eat anything this morning, my lord. He seems quite dejected." 

Mr. Grindelwald hummed in response. "Well, I have someone to cheer him up. This is Credence Barebone. He'll be staying with Percy for a while, I believe, and will be in charge of the house. Follow me, Credence."

Credence followed, bewildered and overwhelmed by his surroundings, as they climbed up the flight of stairs and entered a living room. A man sat by the fireplace, chained to the armchair, his mouth gagged with a handkerchief, bearing a black eye. It was Mr. Graves. 

His hair was long and messy, his clothing rumpled, and he looked exhausted and miserable. Nothing like the well dressed, immaculate man Credence had known. 

"I thought- I thought he was one of your followers," Credence blurted out in shock. 

"Oh, he is," Mr. Grindelwald said, eyes gleaming. "Aren't you, Percy?" He waved his wand, and the handkerchief fell away. 

"You bastard, I'll kill you!" snarled the real Mr. Graves. 

"Now, Percy, don't say anything you'll regret later." Mr. Grindelwald took the other armchair, settling down in a languid motion.

There were no other seats in the room, so Credence remained standing. 

"You told me it would take two weeks! I've been locked up in this damn house for three months!" 

Mr. Grindelwald raised a slender eyebrow. "You do recall that was an estimate. And you can only blame yourself for being locked in the house, after breaking the terms of our agreement multiple times. But now, I have good news. Credence." He motioned with a finger, and Credence found himself coming forward, obeying the imperious gesture before he could think. 

"This is the Obscurial," Mr. Grindelwald said. "I've finally found him."

"Him?! He's one of the Second Salemers. An adult Obscurial?" Graves huffed, disbelief intermingling with contempt. "Impossible!" 

Mr. Grindelwald clucked, disapproving. "You're making the same mistake I did. Judging a book by its cover. Assuming that if something's improbable, then it can't happen." He glanced at Credence. "Show him."

Credence shook his head. He had some limited amount of control that allowed him to suppress the Obscurus, but call on it intentionally? It terrified him. Only in moments of terrible rage had he allowed it to emerge. Besides, he disliked being ordered to perform like a circus animal. 

In one flowing motion, Mr. Grindelwald had risen to his feet and was beside him. 

"Credence," he murmured in his ear. "I understand this is difficult, but we must show this man your real nature. You might not remember this, but there was a witch who tried to protect you, Porpentina Goldstein. She attacked Mary Lou when she saw her beating you." 

Credence clenched his fists. He somehow knew that Mr. Grindelwald was speaking the truth, with the same certainty that he knew his own name. But... "Why don't I remember this?"

"You were obliviated, my boy." Mr. Grindelwald no longer bothered to keep his voice low. "All of you were. And Miss Goldstein was punished for the crime of trying to protect a No-Maj. He's the man who ordered her to be punished for helping you." He pointed at Graves.

Sudden rage filled Credence, and black smoke began billowing from his skin. Graves stared at him with pure horror. 

"Impossible..." 

"You ought to rot here forever," Credence spat. 

Mr. Grindelwald shushed him, arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him aside. "He's suffered quite a bit in the last months, as you can see, though mostly through his own doing. I understand your thirst for revenge, Credence. But you must set your sights higher. For all his flaws, Percy was just a bureaucrat following twisted laws. It's not the individual actors that carry the majority of the blame here; it's the unjust system that governs them." 

The murky shadows gradually faded, receding under Credence's skin, while he trembled and struggled to contain himself.

"What do you mean?" 

"The International Statute of Secrecy." Mr. Grindelwald spoke as if the words themselves had a vile taste. "It means we have voluntarily rendered ourselves helpless, cruelly ignoring anyone who needs our help. We allow the No-Majs to run rampant, killing themselves and our own people in needless wars, developing ever deadlier weapons of mass destruction. Rappaport's Law, the American law, is even worse. It means that wizards and witches wouldn't even be allowed to talk to you, let alone rescue you, so long as they believed you to be a No-Maj." 

"You're oversimplifying the whole issue-" objected Graves from behind them.

Mr. Grindelwald turned. "Am I?" he responded chillingly, placing his hand on Credence's shoulder. "Please do justify leaving this boy in the care of that abusive woman, Percy."

Credence allowed the black storm to seep out of him, this time intentionally, and felt a thrill of spiteful triumph when Graves cowered in his chair. 

"So you found yourself a weapon, Grindelwald," he said bitterly, flinching away from the thick, living shadows that drew closer and closer. "He's using you, boy. You'll be discarded as soon as you're no longer useful." 

Credence hesitated, his Obscurus stretching out wide in uncertainty, but Mr. Grindelwald only laughed. It was dark, lovely sound that sent a shot of pleasure through Credence's body.

"What are you trying to do, Percy? Turn him against me with such crude lies? You underestimate his intelligence." 

With every word, the Obscurus quieted and dimmed, until it disappeared completely. Mr. Grindelwald waved his wand and the chains around Graves fell away. 

"Come now, try to behave for just a little while. I must go clean up that mess before MACUSA start suspecting too much. Credence, please keep Percy company while I'm gone. He's been alone in the house for far too long." 

He turned, then paused and drew Credence close, murmuring in his ear. "You can ask the house-elf for food or anything else you'd like. Under the terms of our agreement, Nory obeys my orders. Also, you can treat Percy any way you desire. I only ask that you keep him alive and unharmed. But remember, this is your house now as much as it's his." 

Credence stared. His house? This mansion? 

Then he recalled something. "Modesty, my sister-" 

"Ah, yes. That must be taken care of. Thank you for reminding me." Mr. Grindelwald smiled drily. "You understand that by contacting her, we'll be committing a crime, breaching Rappaport's Law?"

Credence bit his lip. It was ridiculous, infuriating, sick. "It's a terrible law." 

"You're perfectly right, my boy. And that is why we'll overturn it," he added lightly, heading for the door.

"Wait!" Credence hurried after him, grabbing a sleeve.

"Yes?" Just the slightest hint of impatience colored his tone. 

"What if Mr. Graves is angry and tries to hurt me when I'm alone with him?" he whispered, a sudden fear rising in him. The truth was that he was lost in this new, strange world that he'd long dreamed of joining.

"Credence," said Mr. Grindelwald, sounding fond and exasperated in equal measures. "If he does, then he's the greatest fool I've ever met. You have my full permission to kill him in such a situation, of course." He tucked a strand of hair behind Credence's ear. "He may have a terrible temper, but believe me, he's far more afraid of you than you are of him."

Credence swallowed and let go of the sleeve, far less confident than Mr. Grindelwald, but sensing that the man wasn't interested in being detained any longer. 

Then he was left alone with Graves.

"Has you completely wrapped around his little finger, doesn't he?" grunted the older man as he stood up and stretched his limbs.

Credence frowned. "What do you mean?" 

"It's his method. Never met a fella with such a talent for manipulation. Even people who know of his reputation fall for it." 

"Aren't you following him too?" Credence pointed out. He wasn't entirely sure what the relationship between Graves and Mr. Grindelwald was, at this point. 

Graves snorted. "I'm different. I have my own reasons for doing what I do. I'm not one of his _fanatics_. The man's clearly insane, but he's the only one who can get me what I want." 

"And what is that?"

Graves narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "Why should I tell you?"

"You don't have to," said Credence nervously. He decided he'd had enough of the hostile conversation. He walked over to the door, intending to explore the house. 

"My sister got locked in jail because of me." 

Credence froze and turned.

"I asked to borrow her identity. I had to do something... Illegal, but it's a stupid law, and it looked far less suspicious if I pretended to be her. Some witnesses saw me doing it, while wearing her face." He spoke very rapidly, as though he hadn't had anyone to talk to in a long time. "She got sentenced for three years. I have to get her out."

"You let her stand trial instead of you?" Credence didn't bother to hide his disgust. 

Graves looked halfway between embarrassed and stubborn. "There were complications. I can't explain. Besides, I have the means to try and release her. She would've been helpless to free me."

"You're a coward," said Credence and walked out of the room without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

Credence spent the rest of the day exploring the house. It was more beautiful than any place he'd ever seen, and it helped distract him from the images of Mary Lou and Chastity's bodies that kept returning to his mind, unbidden. Nory showed him a bedroom that could be his own, and Credence spent some time marveling at its spaciousness and daydreaming about how it would be like to have a whole room to himself. The house-elf then provided him with a meal, even better than the restaurant Mr. Graves- no, Mr. Grindelwald- had once taken him to. He ate oyster broth, roast lamb with mashed potatoes and cheese, white rolls with butter and steamed marmalade pudding. The china plates and gleaming silverware, complemented nicely by the white tablecloth, nearly made him forget his own loneliness. He thought to ask Nory about Graves, then decided against it. He wanted as little to do with the man as possible. 

Night had fallen, and it became later and later. Credence paced the corridor on the upper floor, watching the entrance, attempting to suppress his anxiety. He didn't want to think of what would happen if Mr. Grindelwald didn't come back. If he didn't find Modesty. If the aurors would suddenly break in, ready to kill him...

Finally the oak doors opened. Credence darted back into his room, terrified by the images of his own mind.

"Welcome back, Lord Grindelwald," called Nory. "And who is this?"

"Modesty Barebone." It was Graves's voice that replied. "She'll be staying with us." 

Credence advanced slowly out of the room.

"Should I show you my real face, now?" asked Graves's voice.

"Yes." His heart leapt at Modesty's voice. 

He took another step and saw Mr. Grindelwald standing by the entrance, disguised as Graves, pointing his wand at himself. Modesty gasped as his features melted away, dark hair turning to blond.

"Well, what do you think?"

Modesty hesitated. "I like it better," she said at length. 

"Modesty!" Credence advanced to where she could see him. 

She took one look at him and let out a shrill, ear-splitting scream. The chandelier dislodged itself, ripping itself free of its chain, and soared toward him. Credence leapt aside, and it crashed into the wall behind him, a thousand little shards flying everywhere. The entrance became a lot darker, but there was still some light from the candles placed along the walls, so he could see the way Modesty clung to Mr. Grindelwald.

"Credence, stay where you are," said Mr. Grindelwald, cool and cutting like a knife. He then knelt beside Modesty and embraced her, making reassuring sounds. "There, there. Everything's all right, brave girl. I promised he couldn't hurt you, didn't I?" 

Modesty gradually calmed down, the sound of her sobs becoming muffled. 

"There was no need to throw the chandelier at me," said Credence, shaken and angry. 

Mr. Grindelwald stood and waved his wand. The pieces of the chandelier flew up, repairing themselves and brightening the room once more. "You think I did it?" 

"Then, who-?" 

"Isn't it obvious?" 

Credence's throat constricted as he noted the soft, possessive way Mr. Grindelwald stroked Modesty's hair. "She's a witch."

Modesty raised her head and glared at him. "I'm _not_ a witch!" 

"Mary Lou did seem to have a talent for collecting magical children," Mr. Grindelwald mused. "A pity she isn't here to appreciate the irony." 

"Is she... Like me?" asked Credence.

"An Obscurial? No, she started manifesting her powers late, and luckily for her, you drew away most of Mary Lou's ire, so she was spared."

Credence thought of the toy wand that Modesty had hid under her bed. Had she known? Was that the reason she'd secretly defied Mary Lou?

"Modesty, I'm sorry about Ma-" 

She buried her face in Mr. Grindelwald's coat. 

"She's just seen you murder her mother and sister," said Mr. Grindelwald, severe and pitiless. "I suggest you leave her alone for now." 

Credence felt as though he'd been slapped. Heat rose in his cheeks, countless emotions swirling within him. "All right," he bit out at last, retreating to his room and slamming the door. 

He lay in bed for a few hours, unable to calm his racing heart and fall asleep. His room was too quiet. He missed the sounds of breathing, Chastity and Modesty's warm bodies lying close by. He counted the seconds passing by, trying to lull himself to sleep in vain. The door opened, and he straightened up at once, startled. 

"What are you doing?" he hissed, while Mr. Grindelwald advanced into the room as though it was his own. 

"I came to apologize." He sounded anything but apologetic. "I made you feel guilty for the death of that repugnant woman." He towered over Credence, hand reaching out to encircle his chin. Credence tried not to flinch. "Modesty is a little girl. She's not mature enough to understand things the way you and I do. She doesn't understand the necessity of violence." He tilted Credence's head upward, making him meet the blue eyes. "You did well to kill her. That woman kept you caged like an animal. It was your right- no, your _duty_ \- to break free." 

Credence couldn't breathe. He tried not to whimper when Mr. Grindelwald's thumb brushed against his cheek. 

"Why- Why did you treat me like that?" he chocked out. "You told Modesty I murdered-"

"It was the truth. She'll start understanding that it was justified as she grows older. In the meantime let her be. If you're patient enough, she'll learn to trust you again." 

Credence felt tears prickling at his eyes. "I didn't mean to kill them..." 

"Credence." Mr. Grindelwald's hands snaked around his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. "Never regret getting rid of filth like them. You should be proud for finally retaliating. They deserved everything you did and more." 

"Chastity... Chastity wasn't as bad..." Credence tried to swallow back his sobs, feeling pathetic. 

"She was complicit in your abuse. They were both like ugly parasites, trying to crush your spirit." Mr. Grindelwald's hands traveled lower, patting Credence's back. "They were jealous and hateful, sensing that your true place was far above them. In the future, when you take your rightful place beside me, the No-Majs will submit themselves before you, or suffer the consequences." 

The words made him shiver with anticipation and fear. "I'm not- I couldn't- They would laugh at me."

"Laugh?" Mr. Grindelwald repeated, incredulous, as though he'd said something absurd. "You're my precious Obscurial. Do you think anyone dares laugh at me?" 

Credence took one look at the sharp, elegant features, the icy, domineering blue eyes. He swallowed. "No." 

Mr. Grindelwald lowered his head and brushed his lips, ever so gently, against Credence's forehead. The touch was too slight, too fleeting. Credence stretched upward, an involuntary whine escaping his throat.

"Please, I need... I need more..." 

Mr. Grindelwald laughed. "You have no idea what you're asking for, my innocent boy, do you?" 

Credence bristled. "I do know, I've done things-" He stopped, embarrassed and worried that Mr. Grindelwald would be disgusted with him. 

"Mary Lou never found out?"

"Not often." Credence shuddered at the memories. The only thing Mary Lou hated more than witchcraft was lewd thoughts. During his teenage years he'd suffered the worst beatings whenever he didn't manage to hide the evidence. He was fortunate that she had no idea he fantasied about sodomy, or she probably would've killed him. 

"Are you ashamed of your desires?" Mr. Grindelwald didn't wait for a reply. "Don't be. It's the same as that nonsense about God and demons and witchcraft. Superstitions invented to keep the masses in line." 

Credence remembered the shock he'd felt the first couple of times when Mr. Grindelwald- back then still Mr. Graves- had uttered blasphemy in his presence. It was astonishing, disturbing, and yet oddly refreshing to hear someone casually disregard the most basic principles of life.

"It's unnatural," he protested, half to himself. 

Mr. Grindelwald withdrew with a look of revulsion. "Those are Mary Lou's words. I don't want to hear them any longer." 

Credence realized his mistake too late. "I didn't mean to say it. Please..." He reached out, grasping at air. 

Mr. Grindelwald caught his fingers, then looked down on him for a while. Credence tried fruitlessly to control his breathing. 

"You want me to come closer, Credence?" 

The words seemed to caress his skin like velvet, like silk, flowing through his arteries down to the pit of his stomach and below. 

"Yes."

Mr. Grindelwald smiled, arrogant and cold. "You'll have to earn it. Do as I say, and you'll be rewarded." 

He brushed his lips once more against Credence's fingers, and then let them drop. 

Credence took a deep breath, willing himself to meet the unforgiving gaze. "I will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to figure out how late children can manifest their magical abilities in the HP universe. From Neville's case it seems that it can be delayed. Since Modesty is only eight, I assume it's plausible that she's a witch. I mean, considering she grew up in a very anti-magic environment, the fact that she acquired and hid a toy wand is pretty suspicious, and feels to me like a hint in that direction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-harm and a minor character death.
> 
> This chapter was edited by [The_Mountain_Fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mountain_Fairy/pseuds/The_Mountain_Fairy), my wonderful beta. They're writing their own lovely HP fic, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393368/chapters/56059639).

It took Credence a few weeks to start adjusting to his new life. He liked the new clothes Mr. Grindelwald had gotten him. He relished every meal, so different from Mary Lou's regime of soup and gruel. But some changes were harder to get used to.

He found himself jumping at the faintest sounds, cringing guiltily at the mentions of witches, tracing the scars that lined his hands in memory of old hurts. He sometimes had to remind himself that Mary Lou was dead, that he'd killed her, that she could never punish him again. And yet he still awoke in the middle of the night in sheer terror, having dreamed of her standing over him with a grim expression, belt in hand. 

Modesty had nightmares too. He could hear her cries sometimes, from her bedroom across the corridor, although the horror she dreamed of was quite different. 

"Credence, Credence, don't kill me!"

The first time he'd heard the wails, he'd frozen where he'd stood in the corridor, debating whether to enter her room. He'd wanted so badly to comfort her, but how comforting would it be if the object of her nightmares walked in? He didn't have much time to think. Mr. Grindelwald had appeared at the edge of the corridor, no doubt alerted by the spells he'd put in her room.

"Go to sleep, Credence," he said as he brushed past him, and Credence felt like a child, caught out of bed by a parent. 

He remained where he was, listening to Mr. Grindelwald comforting Modesty.

"Uncle Gellert," she sobbed. "I'm scared."

"Hush, now. Remember what I told you. Credence kills only bad, nasty people. You're a good little girl, so he'll never hurt you."

Mr. Grindelwald had told Modesty to call him 'Uncle Gellert', which Credence found surreal. He couldn't connect the familial title to the dangerous, powerful wizard he knew. But there was a softness to Mr. Grindelwald when he dealt with Modesty. A softness that Credence remembered from his own first meetings with 'Mr. Graves'. He now suspected that softness to be a tool: useful to Mr. Grindelwald, but discarded at the moment he didn't need it. 

Graves kept to himself for the most part, which was a relief for Credence. He never joined them for meals, apparently dining alone. Mr. Grindelwald had his breakfast and supper with them, unless he stayed late at the office, which was at least half of the days. 

"I apologize for being late yet again," he'd often say to Credence, who'd stay awake in the parlor, reading. "MACUSA is such a mess right now. I had to deal with discipling three aurors who allowed Grindelwald to escape with the Obscurial."

The joke was always a variation of this, but his eyes glittered in such a way that it never got old.

The first couple of days, Modesty had refused to eat dinner alone with Credence. Nory had to serve them separately, and the rest of the time Modesty would shut herself in her room. She was only willing to stay in the same room as Credence if Mr. Grindelwald held her in his lap.

Gradually, Modesty agreed to sit in her own chair, and at last, after nearly two weeks, she was willing to join Credence for meals alone. Her body remained stiff and tight, like a coiled spring, ready to bolt at any moment. Credence spoke to her quietly, trying to mimic Mr. Grindelwald's soothing tones, and made no sudden movements. He avoided bringing up their past, careful to never mention Mary Lou or Chastity. Instead, he told her stories of the things he'd read, interesting tidbits about unicorns or fairies or mermaids. 

There was a vast library in the mansion, and Mr. Grindelwald had introduced him to the books he should start with: _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , _Simple Spells for Children_ , _Basic Brews and Potions_ , _An Abbreviated History of Magic_ , _The Fundamental Laws of Magic_.

"These are the sort of books you'd be expected to study during your first school year," he'd said casually. 

Credence had felt himself redden, thinking of all the useless hymns Mary Lou had forced him to recite when he was at that age.

"It's not your fault, my boy," Mr. Grindelwald had said, noticing his embarrassment. "You were robbed of your birthright by the ignorant No-Majs and MACUSA. But we will change that, so that other children will not suffer as you did."

He said things like that so often that Credence had stopped doubting it. The future began to seem inevitable: Mr. Grindelwald would take over the wizarding world, with Credence's help, and he'd abolish all unjust laws. Credence couldn't imagine anyone successfully opposing Mr. Grindelwald. The only part he was still skeptical about was his own role. He still felt useless and ignorant. His Obscurus was incredibly powerful, but it was a wild, unpredictable, destructive force, and one he was afraid to unleash.

Credence spent hours in the library, memorizing facts and concepts, but sometimes he grew too bored, and his hands would inevitably drift to the more interesting titles, the ones full of stories. He always felt guilty after straying for an afternoon and would later redouble his study efforts.

"I ought to get you a wand," said Mr. Grindelwald one evening, after he'd questioned Credence about the spells he'd memorized that day. "There isn't much point in theory without any practice. It will take some time to tamper with the bureaucracy, though. The Americans have the most unreasonable laws about wands."

"I want a wand too, Uncle Gellert," Modesty demanded, her feet swinging listlessly under the table.

"When you're older, dearie."

Modesty's lower lip began to tremble. "It's not fair!"

"Modesty." Mr. Grindelwald looked at her intently, voice dropping low. "What did we say about whining?"

She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide. 

"That's a good girl."

He pulled an open chocolate bar out of his pocket and broke off a small piece. Holding the piece delicately between thumb and forefinger, he offered it to Modesty, just high enough so that she'd have to stretch and tilt her head back as she opened her mouth. It looked, Credence thought, like someone hand-feeding a pet bird. Modesty closed her eyes and sucked on the chocolate, her expression one of pure ecstasy.

Modesty had never tasted chocolate back when they'd lived with Mary Lou, and it had quickly become her favorite treat in the Graves mansion. Yet Mr. Grindelwald never allowed her to have a whole bar, or to choose when to have it, or to eat it independently. It was always small pieces, always given by his hand, and always as a reward for compliance. 

That was the similarity between Mr. Grindelwald and Mary Lou, Credence realized as he watched them in silence. Both desired to train children to obey their every command. 

Mr. Grindelwald glanced at him, eyes narrowing, as though he could tell what Credence was thinking. Credence ducked his head, ashamed. Mr. Grindelwald was nothing like Mary Lou. She had been brutish and violent; he had shown them nothing but kindness. The similarity was only superficial, an optical illusion. 

"I'll be glad to have a wand. Thank you."

***

A couple of days later, Credence sensed a strange chill pass through him while he sat studying in the library. He raised his head. Graves stood in the doorway, watching him, a newspaper tucked under his arm. The late afternoon sun accentuated his ragged, drained features.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Credence tried to pointedly return to his book, but after a few moments his gaze wandered up. Graves still stood there. 

"What do you want?"

"You're very rude, Mr. Barebone," said Graves, sounding tired rather than offended. 

"I'm sorry. I really ought to be more polite to someone who punished the only woman who ever tried to help me."

"You don't understand. Tina Goldstein performed a spell in front of No-Majs. The law is clear, and I couldn't let that slide for multiple reasons—"

"I don't care about your excuses." Credence looked down at his book again and pretended to continue reading. "If you have something to say, say it or leave."

"Very well." Graves pulled out his wand and muttered a spell under his breath. "There, hopefully no one can eavesdrop on us now."

That only made Credence more suspicious. 

"Grindelwald is not who he seems to be. I know how you adore him. You think he's your savior. You have no idea how far he's willing to go to achieve his goals." Graves slapped the newspaper down on the table in front of Credence. "What do you say to this?"

_Grindelwald attacks intensify, risking war with No-Majs._

Below the headline there was a picture of a house on fire, and as Credence watched, the flames flickered and danced, the smoke growing thicker. The caption read: _Violent attacks in Europe. Hundreds of casualties reported._

Credence stared at the headline, then glanced up to the top of the newspaper. It was called _The New York Ghost_ , and the date was from early December, more than a month ago.

"You said he's been impersonating you for three months. How could he be behind these attacks?"

"Those are his followers," said Graves in a tone that implied Credence was being deliberately obtuse. "His _acolytes_. They'd do anything for him."

"That isn't proof. The paper could be wrong." Mary Lou had never put much stock in the press, although she wasn't above trying to use them to spread her message.

"Really?" Graves shook his head. "So, tell me, who's behind them?"

"It could be anyone," said Credence stubbornly.

"Stop kidding yourself." Graves ran his hands through his hair in agitation. "I'm Director of Magical Security. I _know_ what the bastard's done. With you in his hands, he might become unstoppable. I can't let that happen."

"You keep pretending you're not following him yourself." Credence shut his book, increasingly annoyed with Graves's hypocrisy.

Graves stilled. "I sold my soul to the Devil because I saw no other choice. I keep thinking this might've been a mistake. But you—You have no reason to follow him. You could run away and—"

"And what? Your aurors think I'm a monster. They'll kill me." Credence had no doubt about it. Mr. Grindelwald had told him enough of the office conversations. If he hadn't attacked anyone, they might've locked him up in some room and studied him as a curiosity. Now that he'd killed three No-Majs and destroyed half of New York, there was no hope for him. They'd kill him for sure.

"That's—" Graves stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath. Apparently even he couldn't deny the truth. "There's a man in Britain. Albus Dumbledore. The most brilliant wizard of the century. Rumor has it that he's the only man Grindelwald fears."

"What of him?" Credence didn't like the direction the conversation was taking. He liked it here, with the comfort and security he'd never before had in his life. Becoming a hunted fugitive hardly seemed like an attractive option.

"I've read the secret files we keep on him in MACUSA's archives. His sister, Ariana Dumbledore, died at age fourteen under fishy circumstances, a couple of years after his mother passed away in some 'accident'. The British Ministry of Magic's investigation discussed the possibility that the sister might have been an Obscurial. At that time, we all thought that was a load of bunk. Who ever heard of an Obscurial living past ten?" Graves sighed and shook his head.

"You're the living proof that we were wrong. Dumbledore refuses to discuss his sister's death with the press. Still, I believe he wouldn’t have wanted her hunted down and killed. Go to him. He's the only person who could possibly help you."

Credence stood up, boiling with rage. How dare Graves send him on a wild goose chase, suggesting that he should place all his hopes on speculation and rumor. If he followed this advice, he'd likely end up dead.

"Leave me alone, you cretin, or you'll regret it." He knew his eyes were going white, his form beginning to dissolve into darkness.

"Go ahead, deny the facts. That won't change reality. You're supporting a scoundrel and a murderer, and he'll destroy you without hesitation the moment you become a threat."

"You're lying!" He was losing control. He knew it. "Stop talking, or I'll kill you."

Graves backed away, wand drawn, fear and repulsion overtaking his features. "I should've known there was no use talking to you." His face twisted, ugly and hateful. "What is he doing to keep you on his side? I've seen the way you look at him, you little daisy. Is he bedding you–"

Graves never finished his sentence. Credence flung a black arm, throwing the man violently toward a bookcase. Graves smashed against the wooden shelves, letting out a groan, then collapsed to the floor like a rag doll. Credence trembled as he struggled to maintain control and return to his human form. It was so easy to forget himself in the Obscurus's blind, consuming nothingness. Graves wasn't moving from his place by the wall.

"Credence!" It was Modesty's sweet, childish voice. "Credence, where are you?"

Graves still wasn't moving. Something dark and wet was dripping down the back of his head.

_Keep him alive and unharmed._

"Credence, are you in the library? Credence!"

_I only ask that of you. Keep him alive and unharmed._

He hurried to the library door, shutting it firmly behind him. "I'm here, Modesty. No need to shout."

She stared at him in that quiet, intense way of hers. Credence was pretty sure that Modesty knew exactly how her stare made people feel and used it intentionally, but it still got under his skin. It disturbed everyone, except for Mr. Grindelwald, who found it charming.

Mr. Grindelwald. _Graves_.

Credence almost lost control again, nausea rising in his stomach.

"Credence, you're sweating."

"Just feeling warm," he lied.

She stared at him for a moment longer. "Come play with me."

This was a new behavior she'd started exhibiting over the last few days: not only agreeing to play with him, but actively seeking him out. It was an encouraging sign, Mr. Grindelwald had said, that the loneliness was wearing her down.

Credence followed Modesty to her room. Unlike the rest of the mansion, which was richly and tastefully decorated, hers was a sea of creamy pastel. Mr. Grindelwald had ordered Nory to furnish it under the pretense of a distant young cousin moving in with Graves. Toys were strewn all over the carpet.

"Exploding Snap?" Credence offered, trying to force his mind away from his panic.

The magical variant of the card game had only been around for a year, but had already gained wild popularity, or so Nory had reported. Credence just hoped that Modesty wouldn't choose to play Gobstones. He hated the smell.

"Wizard's Chess," she said.

"I don’t know how to play." Mary Lou never held a chess set, considering such games a waste of time.

"I'll teach you. Uncle Gellert plays it with me. He says it's the best game there is."

"All right."

He tried to concentrate while she rattled off the rules. The pieces arranged themselves on the board, muttering to each other.

"Pawn to B4," Modesty announced. The piece slid forward.

"Don't send me," came a chorus of voices from Credence's pieces.

"Ignore them. Uncle Gellert says they're cowards with people they don't know."

Credence could barely hear her over the hammering of his own heart.

"Cre—de—nce!" she whined.

"Oh, sorry. Uh, pawn to A6."

Predictably, he lost the first match after five minutes. Modesty insisted on playing another game. He lost it just as quickly. 

"You're letting me win." She glared at him.

"No, I'm not." Credence watched in misery as the pieces organized themselves once again.

He was losing the third round when the door opened behind him. Modesty's face lit up.

"Uncle Gellert!" She leapt to her feet and ran over. "Uncle Gellert, you gotta teach Credence to play chess! He's really bad at it."

"Maybe later, dearie. I need to have a word with your brother in private."

Credence froze where he sat on the carpet.

"Well?"

He forced himself to stand and approach the door, eyes on the floor. Modesty chattered on, oblivious.

"Wait in the room, sweetheart."

Modesty paused by the door, perhaps hoping for a reward, but none came. Credence had noticed how Mr. Grindelwald kept the rewards intermittent, so that Modesty never knew what to expect.

Mr. Grindelwald took ahold of his arm in a tight grip and steered him across the corridor, into Credence's own room. After closing the door behind them, Mr. Grindelwald released him. Credence couldn't stop shaking.

"Care to explain what I found in the library?"

Credence opened his mouth. No sound came out.

"Did Percy attack you first?"

Credence swallowed. "Yes."

Mr. Grindelwald snorted. "I don't even need Legilimency to tell you're lying."

Tears sprung up in Credence's eyes. "I'm—I'm sorry."

"Percival Graves was a valuable asset that won't be easily replaced." Mr. Grindelwald closed the distance between them in three quick steps, his voice cold as ice. "I could impersonate him successfully only due to the memories and knowledge that I harvested off of him. You have no idea of the amount of time and effort you've wasted, you stupid boy."

Unbearable shame washed over Credence in waves, choking him. He grabbed hold of Mr. Grindelwald's arm. "I'm sorry—"

Mr. Grindelwald shoved him away. Credence stumbled, and his back scraped against the corner of his dresser. The sharp pain provided relief. It felt _right_.

"We won't be able to stay here for much longer. And I was planning to release him. To keep him as a spy on MACUSA." Mr. Grindelwald paced the room. "Why did you kill him? And don't bother trying to lie to me again."

"He-He insulted me… Said you were a murderer, and that… That I was following you only because you were be-bedding me—"

"And that made you lose control? We can't have that happen. You're going to hear far, far worse about the both of us."

The thing that really hurt Credence wasn't Mr. Grindelwald's restrained fury. It was the bitter, deep disappointment he heard beneath it. Mr. Grindelwald had expected more of him, and Credence had failed to live up to that expectation.

_A wretched, inadequate failure._

"Punish me." He seized both of Mr. Grindelwald's arms, almost wishing to be pushed away again. "Please, punish me!"

A flash of distaste passed over Mr. Grindelwald's expression. "I'm not your mother, Credence."

"Please…"

Mr. Grindelwald retrieved a wand from his cloak. "There, this is yours. I was looking forward to celebrate gifting it to you. Use it as you wish."

Credence felt his fingers close around the wand, numb and distant. He recalled that odd story he'd read a week ago, the one that mentioned the three Unforgivable Curses. He'd been curious and looked up the reference in one of Graves's advanced books about the Dark Arts.

He pointed the wand at himself. " _Crucio._ "

He fell to the ground, screaming. It was nothing like Mary Lou's beatings. It was a thousand times worse, like dozens of knives tearing into his flesh. He was pathetically grateful that it ended after a moment, leaving him a quivering mess on the carpet.

"Credence, my boy." Warm arms enveloped him, providing support. "There was no need to do that."

_I would have done it again_ , Credence thought, but said nothing. Mr. Grindelwald helped him up and seated him on the bed, settling down beside him. Credence hesitantly leaned his head against Mr. Grindelwald's shoulder, the same way Mary Lou sometimes allowed it, when he was a very young child. He let his tears flow while aftermath of the pain cascaded away.

Pain was forgiveness. He knew it when Mr. Grindelwald caressed his hair, all traces of anger gone. Pain was cleansing. Mr. Grindelwald murmured comforting words against his neck. It was liberation from shame and guilt.

_It was freedom._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for war imagery: i.e. brief descriptions of death, rape and genocide. 
> 
> This chapter was edited by [The_Mountain_Fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mountain_Fairy/pseuds/The_Mountain_Fairy), my wonderful beta. They're writing their own lovely HP fic, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393368/chapters/56059639).

After using the Cruciatus, Credence didn't attempt any more spells for two days, spending his time listlessly wandering around the house and garden. On the third day, he forgot himself and out of habit tried to enter the library. The door wouldn't budge, and he stared at it in confusion, until an utterly intolerable stench reached his nose. Then he recalled that Mr. Grindelwald had decided to leave Graves's body in the library for the authorities to find. A memory-modified Nory would be left at the house as well, ready to provide an explanation for the corpse.

 _Graves was the fourth person I've killed, and already I forget him,_ he thought dully. _Maybe I'm becoming a cold-blooded murderer._

To distract himself, he decided to try and practice some of the simple charms he'd learned. Alone in his room, he pulled out his wand and ran his fingers over its smooth length. It was made of willow, ten inches long, with a core of dragon heartstring, or so Mr. Grindelwald had told him. Credence had no idea if the information held any significance. He held out the wand experimentally and said, loud and clear, " _Lumos_."

The wall across him exploded with a blast, dust and debris flying everywhere. Credence yelped and almost dropped his wand. The wall looked exactly like those he'd destroyed in his Obscurus form. He could see the garden through the hole he'd created, bits of stone strewn between the statues, fine white powder covering the flowers. And yet…

He looked down at his dust-covered hands. No black tendrils had appeared. No shadows. He didn't feel angry. Or hateful. Or any other emotion that called on the Obscurus.

"Credence, are you all right?"

Modesty.

Credence expected her to start screaming when she arrived at the doorway, considering what had happened last time she'd seen this type of destruction. Instead, she burst out laughing.

"What?"

"You look like a snowman," she hooted, sounding entirely too pleased with his predicament.

He touched his hair, and indeed, his hand came back white. "It's not funny! Call Mr. Grindelwald."

She ran off, calling, "Uncle Gellert! Uncle Gellert! Credence broke the wall!"

"You really must learn a little self-control." Mr. Grindelwald looked irritated when he arrived. He waved his wand and the wall immediately began to repair itself. Dust lifted from Credence's hair and clothes, not a speck remaining.

"It wasn't the Obscurus! It was a spell."

"A spell?" Mr. Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, looking at Credence as though he'd gone insane.

"Yes, a spell!" Credence knew Mr. Grindelwald wouldn't believe him, so he raised his wand in desperation. " _Lumos_."

The half-repaired wall exploded in the same manner as before. Mr. Grindelwald took in the sight with slow astonishment.

"Do that again," Mr. Grindelwald said, coughing in the dust. "No, wait. Use a different spell."

Credence pointed his wand to the still-intact part of the wall. " _Accio_ painting."

It exploded, along with the wall surrounding it.

"All right, stop." Mr. Grindelwald waved his wand in an absentminded motion, his eyes fixed on Credence while the wall mended itself. "Hmm. Strange. You had no trouble performing the Cruciatus two days ago."

Credence wanted to recoil at the mention. "Yes. That's true."

Mr. Grindelwald tapped a finger against his lips, deep in thought. "I have a hypothesis. An Obscurus develops within magical children who suppress their power, and it expresses itself under the conditions of fear, rage and self-loathing. You can probably cast without much hindrance any type of spell that causes pain. Perhaps even the Killing Curse, as long as those emotions empower the act. Anything else will bring only destruction."

"So… What does that mean?" Credence looked down at his wand. "I can't use magic?"

"Not until we figure out how to solve this problem."

***

They began their journey to Nurmengard Castle in early February. Mr. Grindelwald had opted to travel by passenger liner and train. Traveling by magical means held too many risks of injury and detection, he had said. 

Modesty treated the whole trip like a vacation, rushing about the liner and gaping at the sights. Credence was seasick, spending the whole time closed up in the cabin in utter dejection. Mr. Grindelwald brewed him a potion, but owing to the scarcity of ingredients, he could only concoct an inferior version. It gave Credence little relief, the effect lasting only for an hour or so.

But seasickness wasn't the primary reason for Credence's misery, if he was honest with himself. The realization of his inability to perform spells had sent Credence into depression. Learning magic had been his dream ever since Mr. Grindelwald had first shown him its wonders. He found himself envious of Modesty, who would have no such trouble as she grew older.

The sole advantage of the long trip, in Credence's opinion, was that Mr. Grindelwald had set up office in their cabin, not too far from Credence's cot. While Modesty was off roaming the liner, Credence had enough time to ponder the questions he wanted to ask. Mr. Grindelwald would administer the potion, and Credence took advantage of the half-hour respite to discuss the issues that bothered him.

"Why did Mr. Graves provoke me? That was very stupid of him," he said one evening.

Mr. Grindelwald hummed in agreement. "That man always had a terrible temper."

"Still, why ask if you were bedding me? Such a strange question…"

"He was frustrated and jealous, I suppose." Mr. Grindelwald dipped his quill in the inkwell.

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Percy's tastes tended toward young men," said Mr. Grindelwald offhandedly, as he leaned forward to examine his own scribbles. "That's what got him in trouble in the first place. He was trying to woo a young No-Maj. The boy showed no interest in his advances, apparently not possessing any attraction to men. Percy resorted to Polyjuice and a lock of his sister's hair. The poor woman had no knowledge of Percy's doings. Imagine her shock when aurors showed up at her door. Nevertheless, she took the blame the moment she realized what her brother had done. A very loyal sister, I must say."

Credence felt sick, and he didn't think it was the potion wearing off. "You're almost making me glad I killed him."

Mr. Grindelwald chuckled. "You certainly need not feel any remorse for the man himself. He barely spoke about his sister during those three months, always asking after the boy. Percy tried to contact and meet him multiple times, despite my warnings that it wasn’t safe. I eventually had to imprison him in his own house."

During their last evening on the liner, Credence gathered up the courage to voice his most pressing concern. "Mr. Graves… Mr. Graves claimed you were a murderer."

"And?" Mr. Grindelwald's quill did not pause.

"Well, are you?"

"That depends on your definition of 'murderer', Credence. The international wizarding community finds it convenient to smear me and my followers, since we threaten their precious dogmas." 

"That doesn't answer my question."

Mr. Grindelwald put down the quill and rose with a sigh, chair scraping against the wooden floorboards. "I suppose it is time to show you, then." He glanced about the room, then flicked his wand. "This will do."

A mirror lifted off the wall and flew into Mr. Grindelwald's hand. He placed the mirror upon the table, then waved his wand in complex patterns, murmuring under his breath. Silvery strands erupted from the tip of his wand, twisting and surging before dissolving into the mirror's glassy surface. Credence observed closely, curious to see the most intricate spell he'd ever witnessed unfold.

About a minute later, Mr. Grindelwald finally lowered his wand. "Come here. Look inside."

Credence stared into the mirror, which now looked more like a translucent window. Beyond the glass he could see a turbulent sea, turquoise waves rising and falling wildly. A beach appeared in the distance, and he could see a village, surrounded by thousands of uniformed figures, scurrying about in chaotic formations. It looks like a disturbed anthill. While he watched, fighters swooped low, dropping bombs that exploded with violent color, sending bodies flying.

"What is this?"

Mr. Grindelwald leaned over his shoulder. "It shall be known as the Massacre of Dunkirk. Nearly two hundred thousand British troops captured and killed. Another hundred thousand French troops will meet the same fate."

"You speak as though it has already happened." Credence couldn't tear his eyes away.

"It will. Unless a miracle prevents it."

"This is like the Great War," Credence whispered.

"Oh, no. This will overshadow it by far."

The mirror blurred and cleared. Now he was looking into a forest. Between the towering birch trees lay a deep ravine, full of white forms. Soldiers were leading another crowd of ghostly figures down into the ravine. They were naked people, Credence realized. Old, bearded men, stripped of their dignity. Young women helplessly covering their breasts. Mothers clutching their children close. They were made to lie down on top of the previous corpses. Soldiers came forward, carrying submachine guns.

"I can't look." Credence felt faint. He squeezed his eyes shut. "This isn't real. This isn't real."

When he opened his eyes, the mirror had blurred and cleared again. Now he saw bombs raining down on a city like hellfire, smoke rising out of decimated buildings. There was fire everywhere. Burning vehicles, carts and horses. People let out anguished screams, begging to die. Burnt corpses lined the streets, pieces of arms and legs scattered about, cremated adults shrunken to the size of children. 

"No!"

"Evil will not disappear just because you avert your eyes," said Mr. Grindelwald, his voice gentle like falling midnight snow.

The mirror blurred and cleared over and over.

He saw a woman lying spread-eagled on the muddy ground, her dress torn, her eyes wide with vacant despair, while a soldier lined up ten of his companions to take their turn.

He saw victims of a bombing collapse at the entrance of a bomb shelter, their skin peeled off in ribbons and hanging limply to the ground, their hair burnt to the scalp.

He saw skeletal prisoners done with a day's work of digging trenches, forced to sing while they marched back to camp, carrying their dead comrades.

He saw soldiers shoot an elderly woman who tried to protect two young girls, while in the background, another soldier stabbed a mother and her baby with a bayonet.

He saw and saw and saw.

Then he saw from far above, as though watching from the heavens, glimpses of countless cities all over the world, filled with bright balls of fire, brighter than the sun itself, their color changing from yellow to red to purple. The fires rose in smoky columns, creating countless mushroom clouds. Entire cities were flattened, laid to waste, leaving nothing but rubble and wreckage. He saw the years pass by, the sun distant and cold beyond a curtain of black soot that filled the sky. An eternal winter took over the world, snow and ice killing those who outlasted the war. The few who remained turned to beasts, bent only on survival.

And then he saw his own face, pale and contorted. Tears and snot were running down to his chin. The mirror had reverted back to normal.

"It's not real. It's not real."

"I cannot afford myself that false comfort. It's real, Credence. It can all come to pass. I have Seen it."

"Why? Why will they do it?"

"Why will the No-Majs murder and torture and enslave millions of their own?" Mr. Grindelwald shrugged, lips twisting in contempt. "You may as well ask the pig why it ruts in the mud. It's in their nature."

"That last image… It looked like Armageddon…"

Mr. Grindelwald didn't scoff at the Christian imagery as Credence expected. "Indeed. The two most powerful empires in history, competing in amassing the deadliest weapon mankind can invent. It has to end in mutual destruction. It will be the end of civilization."

Credence felt hands tighten on his shoulders, pulling him away from the mirror, turning him around to face Mr. Grindelwald. His eyes were blazing with an intense, eerie blue. "You understand now? The No-Majs must be stopped. Any blood spilled for the cause shall save the lives of millions."

Mr. Grindelwald released him, and Credence collapsed on his cot, shaken to the core. Nothing in his life had prepared him for those images. Nothing in life could have.

"I've shown very few people these visions. Only to my most trusted followers. The masses would panic and would refuse to believe."

Credence could sympathize with masses.

"Well, my dear boy," Mr. Grindelwald's tone turned sardonic. "Have I offered a satisfactory reply to your question?" 

Credence could think of nothing else for the rest of their journey. At some point they had disembarked from the liner and had boarded a train, but Credence noticed little beyond the alleviation of his seasickness. He ignored the scenery as they rode the train, the snowy countryside and distant mountains replaced by the inferno of his mind's eye. Modesty sensed his mood and left him alone, busying herself by chattering with fellow passengers, few of whom seemed to know English. They all smiled kindly, though, and offered her sweets, so she was well rewarded for her efforts.

Only once did Mr. Grindelwald disturb Credence from his phantasms.

"There is something you should be aware of, before we arrive at Nurmengard. My followers won't react well to you calling me 'Mr. Grindelwald'."

Credence looked up in surprise. "Why not?"

"None of my followers call me that." Mr. Grindelwald sounded amused, for some reason.

"Then what should I call you?"

"Gellert."

"Ge-Gellert?" Credence almost choked on the name. "That's disrespectful!"

"Not if I allow it. Besides, it will make your life easier. Trust me."

Credence didn't spend much time wondering about the strange request, his mind plunging back to the visions of a dying earth.

They got off the train in a quaint little town, and Mr. Grindelwald led them to a seemingly ordinary shoe store. After a lengthy conversation with the clerk in German, they were led to the back of the store. The clerk, a short, bespectacled man, smiled thinly at them before offering a black shoelace.

"Hold on tight, Modesty," said Mr. Grindelwald. _Gellert_ , Credence amended in his mind with difficulty.

A few seconds later they were jerked through the air at an impossible speed, bumping against each other. The sensation was worse than being Apparated, in Credence's opinion.

They landed on a road, surrounded by thick wood, snow dripping from the pine and spruce trees. The air was noticeably colder, and Credence was glad that Mr. Grindelwald— _no, Gellert_ — had insisted on them wearing their warmest clothes.

A fortress loomed before them, grand and dark and ominous. They trudged up the road, Mr. Grindelwald magically clearing the path before them. As they neared the iron gate, Credence noticed foreign letters carved over the entrance.

_Für das Größere Wohl._

"What does that mean?" he asked softly, but even as the words left his mouth, he _knew_.

The iron gate opened silently before them. Gellert turned to smile at Credence, triumph adorning his beauty.

"Welcome to Nurmengard." His gloved hand found Credence's, their fingers interlacing. "You and I will liberate the world. But first, we must conquer it."

Credence drew in a sharp breath. His hand tightened around Gellert's. He knew what he must answer.

"For the Greater Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you've enjoyed the story, a kudos or comment will be appreciated! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for use of outdated racial terms that are slurs nowadays. Also, a child displaying racist attitudes typical for the time period. 
> 
> This chapter was edited by [The_Mountain_Fairy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Mountain_Fairy/pseuds/The_Mountain_Fairy), my wonderful beta. They're writing their own lovely HP fic, which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23393368/chapters/56059639).

Gellert led them up a staircase to a long hall. The ceiling was high, and candles floated above, illuminating the pointed arches. Wide windows revealed the quickly fading evening light. The sheer size of the place intimidated Credence. It was nothing like the Graves mansion, which, while lavish and stately, had still been personable and homelike. Nurmengard radiated a sort of grim, imposing vastness, which made Credence feel like a flea in the shadow of a giant. 

An assortment of people waited at the edge of the hall. A lovely, elegantly dressed, dark-haired woman sat on sofa by the window. Her striking green eyes surveyed Credence as though he was an intriguing object. A pale, glum-looking, red-haired woman stood beside her. On the other sofa sat two men, looking to be in their early forties. One had a long, narrow face, while the other had a bald head and a greying beard. A younger man, perhaps in his twenties, tall and dark-skinned, stood to their left.

All rose to their feet as Gellert approached. "My lord, it's good to have you back," said the beautiful, dark-haired woman, with a French accent. "And after such a successful trip, as well."

"Not as successful as it could have been, Vinda."

"Always the perfectionist," sighed the narrow-faced man. His voice immediately betrayed him to be an Englishman. His eyes flickered to Modesty. "I was under the impression that the Obscurial is male."

The beautiful woman— Vinda— gave a tinkling laugh. "The Obscurial is the young man, Black. Not the girl."

Black frowned. "An adult Obscurial? That's unheard of. My lord, are you sure?"

Credence's stomach sank as he realized that a demonstration would soon be demanded. But to his surprise, all Gellert said was, "I've seen him destroy half of New York City, so yes, I am certain."

"And the girl?" asked the bald man. He had a German accent.

Without saying a word, Modesty advanced slowly forward, her gaze hard and unflinching as she stared into the bald man's eyes. A tense silence fell upon the group. She let it stretch right until breaking point, when the bald man opened his mouth.

"My name is Modesty Barebone, sir. And I can speak for myself."

He blinked at her in faint surprise. "Indeed, you can." 

The bald man exchanged glances with his companions, who seemed equally bewildered. Gellert's lips twitched with suppressed amusement, Credence noted. He, certainly, wasn't going to aid his followers.

"Well then, Modesty Barebone," said Black at last. "Care to explain what you're doing here?" 

"Uncle Gellert adopted me." She raised her chin, as though daring any of them to challenge her statement. 

Even Vinda lost her composure at the statement. "Adopted?" she echoed, incredulous. 

Credence cleared his throat. "Um, she's my younger sister. Mr. Grindel— I mean, Gellert— discovered she's a witch." All eyes were on him now, and he fought the urge to shrink under the scathing gazes. "Gellert didn't legally adopt her, I think. He kidnapped her, technically speaking, after I killed my mother—"

"That's enough, Credence." Gellert placed a hand on his shoulder, and Credence instinctively relaxed to the touch. "Modesty Barebone will be living here for now. She'll be no trouble, I assure you."

The atmosphere surrounding the group seemed to lighten a bit.

"Sophia," Gellert addressed the glum-looking, red-haired woman who'd remained silent until now. "You have an older sister, don't you?"

Sophia inclined her head. "Yes, my lord. Her name is Maria Kaus. You may remember her husband, Johann. He was a devoted acolyte. You attended his funeral two years ago." Credence had to strain to comprehend her words beyond her thick German accent.

Gellert switched to German, and they discussed some matters rapidly. Vinda appeared to understand, her green eyes focused on the speakers in interest. Black seemed bored, his fingers drumming impatiently against his thigh. The young, dark-skinned man took a few steps closer toward Credence and Modesty. He didn't seem much older than Credence. In fact, Credence noticed with a jolt of surprise, he might even be younger. 

"Yonas Hailu," he introduced himself, holding out his right hand. Credence was further surprised by the polished British accent. "Pleased to meet you."

Credence shook his hand. "Credence Barebone, but— Uh, you already knew that."

Yonas Hailu laughed easily, unperturbed by Credence's awkwardness. "You must find it strange here. Different from New York, isn't it?"

"Yes." Credence didn't know what to say. He wasn't used to strangers being friendly, and he felt pressured by the thought that he ought to reciprocate. "Um, how are you finding it here, Mr. Hailu? Is it different from your home?"

"Please, I can't possibly be older than you. Call me Yonas. " The young man smiled, showing a flash of white teeth. "Is it different from home? I should say so. It's nothing like Gondar here."

"Gondar? Where is that?"

"In Ethiopia. I wouldn't expect you to know it."

"You're a Negro," said Modesty loudly. 

Credence winced in embarrassment. It wasn't so much her words, which were just a statement of the obvious, but the way she said it. Credence wondered if Yonas would be offended. The wizarding world didn't view race relations the same way No-Majs did. He remembered his own shock when Gellert had told him that Seraphina Picquery, President of MACUSA, was born of a union between a Scottish witch and a Nigerian wizard. 

"Isn't that illegal?" he'd gasped at the time.

Gellert had snorted. "Not for wizards, no. The American wizarding community has its own share of prejudices. Thankfully they're not so stupid as to extend that to skin color."

Yonas kept his carefree smile, although now it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, I am a Negro, little girl. You say that as though it's an insult. Why?" 

"Ma said I shouldn't ever talk to Negros, because they attack white girls. She said they're the sons of Ham, who was cursed to be a slave—"

"Modesty!" Credence hissed. Flushed with mortification, he turned to Yonas. "I apologize. We grew up among No-Majs, and our mother was a very ignorant woman."

"Muggles must be taught better," Yonas stated evenly. His eyes darkened. "The wizarding communities of West Africa stood in silence while the Muggles sold their own people as slaves to European Muggles."

"Muggles?" Modesty repeated in wonder.

"Those you call No-Majs. 'Muggles' is the British term."

Credence thought about Yonas's words. "They were silent because of the International Statute of Secrecy?" 

"No. Even nowadays, the International Statute of Secrecy isn't taken seriously in Africa. You'll find that most African Muggles are aware of magic to some degree. No, the wizarding communities just couldn't be bothered. They didn't think it was their place to interfere and tell the Muggles what to do."

"Is that why you joined the cause?" asked Credence, curious.

"One of the reasons," said Yonas.

"How did you hear about it?"

"Yonas was an exchange student in Durmstrang during his sixth year," said Gellert, joining them. Evidently, he'd finished his conversation with Sophia. "An old contact informed me that an extremely talented young wizard had joined the school. One of the most talented to ever attend Durmstrang."

"An exaggeration, my lord," said Yonas, although he seemed pleased. "I wasn't considered anything special back at Uagadou."

That was a magical school located in the British Protectorate of Uganda, Credence recalled. He'd read about magical schools in An Abbreviated History of Magic. 

"That's hardly fair, considering Uagadou is the largest wizarding school in the world," said Gellert, his tone like melting butter. "Harder to distinguish yourself in such an environment, particularly if you show no interest in Astronomy, much to your teachers' disappointment."

Yonas grinned at Gellert, as if sharing a private joke. "I prefer practical subjects." 

Credence shifted in place, agitated by a stab of sour emotion. That tone of voice… For some foolish reason, Credence had thought Gellert reserved it for him.

"So, you've met Yonas," said Gellert. "That is well. The others are Miss Vinda Rosier, Mr. Cygnus Black, Miss Sophia Steiner and Mr. Franz Hamerling." He gestured at each in turn.

"Your name is Black?" Modesty asked the narrow-faced man.

"Yes, I belong to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," said Cygnus Black, with the slightest hint of self-deprecation. "Why?"

"Shouldn't he be called Black?" Modesty pointed at Yonas. 

During the following awkward pause, Credence wished he could bury himself under the hall's stone floor.

"Modesty, that was terribly rude of you," Gellert said, sounding shocked and disappointed. "Apologize to Mr. Hailu at once."

"Why was it rude—" Modesty stopped when Gellert gave her a look. She knew when not to test him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hailu."

"I was speaking to Sophia about her sister," said Gellert, contemplative. "Mrs. Kaus is a widow. She has a seven-year-old daughter and a four-year-old son. I discussed with Sophia the possibility of Mrs. Kaus and her children moving here, to live with us in Nurmengard."

"I'll have friends to play with?" Modesty nearly bounced up and down in excitement, clapping her hands together.

"In the meanwhile, you're not showing me that you deserve friends," said Gellert coldly. 

The enthusiasm drained out of Modesty immediately. She hesitated, her eyes moving around the room, as though searching for sympathy. At last, finding no escape, she turned again to Yonas.

"Mr. Hailu," she said, her head lowered, "I'm very sorry. Please forgive me."

Yonas knelt down, meeting her at eye level, and took her hands in his own. "I will forgive you, if you'll agree we can be friends too."

Modesty glanced up, trepidation morphing into relief and delight. She gave him a shy smile. "Do you know how to play Wizard's Chess?"

He returned her smile warmly. "Of course. That's my favorite game."

"Great. Credence is awful at it, and Uncle Gellert doesn't always have time." 

"So, we've agreed on a game," said Cygnus Black, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wonderful. What a relief. My lord, may I speak to you privately? There have been some important developments in Britain." 

"In a moment," said Gellert. He raised his eyebrows at Yonas. "Will you—?"

"Certainly, my lord." Yonas had already taken Modesty's hand. "Come, Modesty. I'll show you your room."

She skipped along with him. "Can we play now?"

Credence started to follow them automatically, but was stopped by a melodious laugh. 

"You're not joining them, Mr. Barebone." It was Vinda Rosier, looking amused for some reason. 

Gellert was already deep in a quiet conversation with Cygnus Black. 

"Where am I going?" Credence asked Miss Rosier. 

"To your room. I'll show you the way."

Credence followed her up another staircase, into a long, empty corridor. Unlike the Graves mansion, here no paintings or tapestries adorned the walls. It was all painfully bare and sterile, and all the corridors looked the same. For this reason, Credence instantly noticed the statue of a phoenix positioned in the middle of the corridor. Miss Rosier paused before it and held out a hand, signaling Credence to stop.

"There, touch its beak and say 'Against excellence unknown'."

"Is that a password?" To Credence it sounded like an incoherent phrase.

"Yes."

Feeling silly, but seeing no alternative, Credence pressed his fingers against the sharp edge of the stone beak and said, "Against excellence unknown."

The phoenix shook to life under his hand, spreading its wings in a graceful movement that seemed unbefitting of such a hard, unyielding object. The wall behind the phoenix faded away and revealed a narrow, steep staircase, lit by torches of blue fire.

"Up you go," said Miss Rosier.

The room at the top of the staircase was bigger than his room at the Graves mansion. More torches of blue fire lit it, revealing its somber coloring. Night had already fallen outside the narrow windows. Credence looked around the room in confusion. There was a large bed in the center, draped with black and silver. A desk in the corner was crammed with thick tomes, rolls of parchment and forgotten quills. Two tables by the windows were full of strange, silvery instruments that produced gentle hums, chimes and clicks. 

"Someone lives here?" Despite Credence's attempt to phrase it as a statement, it left his mouth sounding like a question.

"Of course." Miss Rosier returned his bafflement with a perplexed stare of her own. "This is Lord Grindelwald's room. What were you expecting?"

"His room?" 

Credence fought the urge to squirm under Miss Rosier's gaze. She was looking at him as though wondering if he was dimwitted. 

"I— I thought I would have my own room." 

"You're the Obscurial." Miss Rosier shook her head. "Haven't you already killed poor Mr. Graves? Not to mention three No-Majs. You think it would be safe to allow you to roam Nurmengard freely?"

To hear himself addressed thus, as though he was a dangerous animal, filled Credence's stomach with an ugly mass of shame and anger. Yet he couldn't argue with her. He'd killed his own mother. He was a monster.

"I'll be locked up here?"

"No, no, obviously not. You can go anywhere you like, so long as you have proper supervision. Lord Grindelwald isn't trying to trap you. He merely thinks it wise to keep an eye on you, at least until you gain some stability."

"Where will I sleep?" There was no additional bed in the room.

"The house-elves will take care of that," said Miss Rosier, turning away. "Settle in, and stop worrying so much."

As it turned out, Credence didn't have much 'settling in' to do. The house-elves had already dealt with his luggage. He found his clothes in the wardrobe, all neatly put away beside Gellert's robes. The books and parchments were all written in languages he didn't understand, and he didn't dare touch any of the instruments. Luckily, after some time spent poking around the shelves, he discovered a stack of familiar books. They were the books he'd been studying back at the Graves mansion, and not only the dry, scholarly ones, but also the storybooks. Credence seized one of his favorites, The Madness of Merwyn the Malicious, and sank into an armchair, happily losing himself in the gruesome, darkly humorous tale. 

"Credence?" 

Credence jerked up, startled. He'd been so engrossed in the book that he'd failed to notice the passage of time. Gellert was leaning against the doorway, his eyes focused on Credence with a bemused expression. 

"I'd assumed you would be asleep by now."

"What time is it?" Credence suddenly noticed the stiffness of his neck and the dryness of his eyes.

"Almost midnight. How long have you been reading?"

"Oh. A long time, then." Credence stood and stretched. "There isn't… The house-elves were supposed to bring a bed for me?"

Gellert didn't answer. He stared at Credence intently, with an unfathomable expression. Credence didn't like it, although he wasn't certain why. Perhaps because the expression looked too much like pity.

"I'm worried about you." There it was, the tone Gellert had used with Yonas, like warm honey. "I can see Mr. Graves's death has affected you. You didn't kill him in self-defense, the way you killed the No-Majs. His death wasn't justified."

"The first No-Maj I killed wasn't in self-defense either," said Credence, his breath hitching at the memory. "He'd just called me a freak."

"His death was insignificant." Gellert's eyes hardened. "No-Majs aren't like us, Credence, no more than an ape resembles a human. We are born with an innate gift they can't even comprehend. We've been chosen by nature, or fate, whatever you want to call it, to rule them."

"Well, I can't access my gift," said Credence, more bitterly than he'd intended. "It just blows up in my face." 

"Ah. That is what's troubling you." Gellert moved closer. His voice dropped to a murmur. "Or is it the visions of the future I've shown you? Or perhaps, everything at once."

Credence leaned into the touch before he'd even registered that Gellert was embracing him, fingers caressing Credence's shoulder. The proximity made Credence bold, and he leaned forward, landing a kiss on Gellert's cheek. It was chaste enough, like the peck he saw other boys give their mothers, but it sent a thrill of anxious arousal through him. 

"Why is there only one bed in here?" Credence demanded softly, hope rising within him. "You said you'd reward me if I did as I was told. Is this—"

"I don't recall making any specific promises."

Credence stared at him, taken aback by the dismissive tone. "You said—"

"I know what I said, my boy. I promised you closeness, like that of a family member. Your carnal obsession with me is beginning to border on the unhealthy."

Credence blinked away tears of shock. He felt as though his heart was swollen and stuck in his throat. "You said— You said I shouldn't be ashamed of my desires."

"True. But I didn't say you should fixate on me. Your infatuation is no longer endearing, Credence. It's become alarming. I'm old enough to be your father."

That was correct, although it was easy to forget, since Gellert didn't exactly look his age. 

"I thought—" Credence pulled away. "Then why is there only one bed?"

Gellert closed the distance between them, wrapping Credence again in a rather forceful embrace. "That terrible hag, Mary Lou, didn't offer you much physical affection, did she?"

Credence didn't resist. He couldn't. "Not since I was a very young child, no."

"That might've accelerated the development of your Obscurus. Giving you physical affection now won't undo all the damage, but it might help you control the Obscurus."

"So…" Credence swallowed, his throat burning from the effort to hold back a sob. "I'm going to sleep in bed with you? For… For physical affection?"

"Until you prove you're capable of self-control without my support."

Credence closed his eyes and shuddered. He could see nothing ahead of him but prolonged torture. 

"I don't think this will help… with my 'carnal obsession'."

Credence felt Gellert's sigh against his ear. 

"I was hoping you could be mature about this. The fate of the entire world depends on your ability to control the Obscurus."

Credence bit his lip. He was being petty and childish, but he couldn't help it. "I'm sorry. It's just very difficult for me…"

"I don't think you realize what I'm saying, Credence." Gellert led him to bed, and they both sat down, their bodies pressed against each other. "People use my phrase, 'For the Greater Good', as a platitude. They don't understand what it really means. They haven’t Seen what I have Seen. What I've shown you in the mirror." 

His fingers threaded through Credence's hair, one moment stroking gently, the other tugging painfully, forcing Credence to raise his head.

"'For the Greater Good' means sacrificing everything you have for the cause. That's what I ask my followers, my true followers, to do. They sacrifice their comfort, their future, their morals, their friends, their family, their life. Anything and everything that is necessary, because the price of failure is too high."

For the first time, Credence thought he fully understood why Gellert's followers called themselves 'acolytes'. He'd grown up in a church. He recognized this utter devotion.

"You're like their god," he said. 

Gellert gave a dry, humorless laugh. "More like their prophet, foretelling doom." He dipped his head, allowing their foreheads to brush together. "But you, my dear boy, will be their salvation. You will be this world's savior." 

The responsibility lay heavy on Credence's shoulders. He felt it almost physically crushing him. "I'll do my best."

"No." Gellert kissed him, trailing his lips from cheek to jawbone to neck, sending flares of confused, guilty passion through Credence. "You won't only do your best. You will succeed. And you'll be revered forever. People will swear by your name. They will immortalize you."

Credence stared out into the darkness that lay beyond the window. He remembered the days back at the Second Salem Church, the hours he spent awake in bed, dreaming of his future. He'd dreamt of leaving his dreary, painful existence behind, joining the magical world, all his problems gone forever. He hadn't realized that the magical world would bring its own set of challenges, in some ways even worse than his previous ones. 

"I never wanted this…" he whispered, feeling hollow.

"We don't choose our struggles, Credence. Only how to face them when they come."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment. I'll be glad for any sort of feedback. :)


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